From Separate Stages
by sky tulips
Summary: AU. Arthur had it all planned - he would go to his dream college, form a band and make it big. However, things aren't that simple and Arthur ends up enrolling in a school that's falling down in the middle of nowhere - unpleasant roommate included. FrUK.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is a collaborative fic between myself and my friend Miri (youbrokemydog at livejournal) - It's the first time either of us have done anything like this before so hopefully it'll turn out well!

**FROM SEPARATE STAGES**

**chapter one.**

**

* * *

**

If there were, somewhere in the world, a record for the most time spent lingering in front of a building, Arthur Kirkland was fairly sure he had just beaten said record. Tilting his head up to the sky and rubbing a hand over his neck, relieving the niggling, tense feeling in the muscle, Arthur rocked back and forth on his heels. Then, taking a sharp intake of breath, Arthur strode right up to the first step and then breathed out in defeat as he reached it, turning on one foot and meandering back to his spot on the driveway. It wasn't that the building was remotely terrifying or anything like that. In fact, Arthur had mused, in its countryside-like manner, it was almost-but-not-quite charming. Sure, it was ancient, the dusty off-yellow stone was crumbling in places, giving it a going-to-fall-down-at-any-given-second kind of atmosphere and the ivy that climbed up the walls and, to the extent Arthur could see, over the _roof _and across several windows, was ridiculously overgrown and withered in places but those things could be overlooked. After all, it wasn't the appearance of Green Acre College of the Arts that made Arthur pace the grounds like an irrational moron; it was the school's reputation. The sad truth being - it had none. In fact, Arthur hadn't even _heard _of the school until his teacher mentioned he should probably find a back-up school in case his first choice didn't accept him (an outcome Arthur had certainly _not_ anticipated). The even more pathetic thing, Arthur believed, was not that his dream school - The Royal Academy of Art had turned him down but that his other _three _back-up schools had done the same. That's right - Green Acre College of the Arts was the back-up to his back-up to his back-up _to his back-up_.

All of this insane running up and down the main steps and muttering profanities to himself was therefore, the preamble to saying goodbye to his hopes and dreams as a musician. For as soon as he opened that door and let himself inside, he will have sealed the deal. He would actually be a _pupil_ in this run-down, stuck-in-the-middle-of-fucking-nowhere, god-damned _disaster_ of a college. And when Arthur said the middle-of-nowhere, he really meant it, too. For what seemed like an eternity, he had pulled his belongings from the train station through some kind of deserted village and then through miles and miles of fields and forests; occasionally damning himself for not learning to drive. Arthur was from London and the countryside had barely any appeal for him. All he remembered from jaunts to the countryside he'd taken part in when he was younger was mud, cows and _allergies_. True, the air was cleaner but Arthur would take pollution over pollen _any_ day of the fucking week. Arthur breathed heavily through clenched teeth and, for what was probably the sixtieth time that afternoon, slung his guitar case over his shoulder and dragged his suitcase up the steps. Running his hand over the door-handle, Arthur contemplated marching right back to the station, taking a train back home to London and trying to make it as a street musician. Then, all of a sudden, a second-floor window opened and, coupled with some yelling and a string of insults in a language Arthur could only assume was Italian, around twenty tubes of paint were hurled out of it, landing scattered around Arthur's feet. Arthur cursed under his breath, noticing a splash of blue on the toe of his shoe. Unaware the angry party upstairs hadn't finished with their tossing of their personal belongings out of the window, Arthur threw his head upwards in an attempt to shout abuse at whoever had done it when a wooden paint palette collided violently with his temple.

Arthur crouched on the floor, clutching his forehead and hissing in pain. Then, by the time he had found his bearings, brushed the dust from his jeans and thought up a good insult for the idiot who had thrown their school supplies away before the school year had even begun, the window had closed. Puffing out his cheeks, Arthur kicked the palette against the wall in a bout of childish frustration. He then resumed his one-hand-on-the-door-handle pose and he pushed down slightly, wincing at the whine of the rusty metal as he did so and then, in that same moment, he let go. Then, although Arthur was having trouble noticing anything going on around him over the sound of his brain breaking down, he could have sworn he heard the faint, vague sound of a car driving up behind him. He chose to ignore it, however and continued jiggling the door handle up and down like a lunatic. He was being stupid, he knew that. He was being fickle and immature and he should be thankful at least _somewhere _had accepted him even if it _wasn't_ his dream school but even so, he thought of the swelling at his temple and of the shiny black marble walls of The Royal and couldn't help but wonder _'What is the fucking point-?!' _and then -

"Are you going to block the way forever or are you going to actually let some of us _inside_? It's getting chilly, _mon ami_."

Arthur turned round in a rather startled fashion, amazed that he actually _wasn't _the last person to arrive at the college. After all, the sign-in process had ended over an hour ago. However, the man at the bottom of the steps was almost certainly a pupil too. He seemed too young, too carefree, and, if that accent was anything to go by, too _French _to be a teacher. One hand was elegantly rested on the handle of his shiny black suitcase, the other on his hip and he was frowning at Arthur in an impatient manner. He carried himself with a rather airy, poised demeanor, blond hair casually tied back by a pale lavender ribbon and covered with a light brown ascot cap, sunglasses perched at the very tip of his nose and violet silk scarf tied lazily around his neck.

Arthur folded his arms and stood up straight, too exhausted and annoyed to deal with any smart-arse Frenchmen or any of their bullshit.

"A simple 'excuse me' would have sufficed, thank you very much."

Almost instantly, the man's frown was replaced by a look of sheer intrigue and amusement.

"I _did _say excuse me," he smiled, "_Three _times."

Feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment, Arthur scowled and scolded himself for not paying more attention.

The Frenchman continued, pulling off his sunglasses and slipping them into his shirt pocket - "You're a student too, _oui_?"

Arthur snorted in disdain, "Of _this _shit-hole? I should hope not."

"Then why are you here?" The other man offered Arthur a confused look.

Arthur relaxed his arms from where they were crossed tightly at his chest, considering the question thoughtfully. Why the fuck _was _he here?

"Are you lost or something?" his irritating conversation partner continued.

"No, I'm not bloody lost! I've got a suitcase and everything! I _am_ technically a student here but to be completely honest, I'd rather just go back home and bludgeon my own skull in if it means I have to spend time talking to idiots like _you _in a dump like _this_!" Arthur was now struggling to keep his volume down in addition to taking out a days-worth of frustration on strangers but for some reason, he found himself unable to care.

The Frenchman made a low humming sound. "Are you done?" he asked, his blue-violet eyes flickering towards Arthur with a look of annoyance, "Because you're beginning to bore me and I'm already late for signing-in."

"Then by all means move the fuck _onwards_," Arthur stood aside from the door, waving his hand towards it in some ridiculous faux-welcoming gesture which, in turn, received a laugh and a shake of the head.

Incensed, half at the Frenchman for being so obnoxious and half at himself for having some kind of frenzied break-down in front of a complete stranger, Arthur turned from facing the grounds towards the door again.

"Right," he said decisively, "Come on, Arthur,"

He took a deep breath, swinging his arms and rolling his shoulders as if he were an athlete preparing for a race and then he followed the Frenchman's lead and opened the door.

* * *

The head teacher didn't seem to mind too much that Arthur had arrived late. After signing-in to the school register and a brief lecture that went over the rules of the college, Arthur was given a key to his dormitory. Green Acre had two floors - one floor devoted to classrooms and practice areas and generally, the _school_ and another floor - the upstairs floor - that consisted of the dormitories and common room. Arthur pulled his suitcase and guitar through the almost-labyrinthine corridors until he finally found the staircase. Sighing heavily when he saw how far the thing seemed to stretch for, Arthur placed his dorm key between his teeth and began to venture up the stairs backwards, both hands clamped around the suitcase handle and guitar case swinging from his shoulder. Half way up the stairs, however, he heard a voice that was a touch familiar.

"Bastard!" It was the lovely and polite Italian who had dropped his palette on Arthur's head. _Smashing_. "If I'm _so _terrible at painting, then why did you insist I accompany you to this stupid place? You knew I wanted to stay in Italy but you were all 'Come to England, Lovi!' and 'Feliciano is applying there too, Lovino! Let's all go together!' and now-"

Arthur looked up through the staircase railings towards the incoming stampede. The fuming brunette he believed to be called Lovino was being followed by a tanned, chuckling man and close behind them was a person Arthur could only assume was Lovino's twin, twirling his fingers anxiously.

"Antonio didn't mean it like that, Lovino!" he called towards his twin, "Really he -"

"Oh really, Feliciano?" Lovino yelled, "Then what else could he have meant when he said 'Looking at Lovi's paintings, you really have to wonder how he even got accepted here!'?"

Antonio raised his arms calmly and offered Lovino an apologetic grin "I was _joking_, Lovi-"

"Don't you _dare_ follow me!" Lovino spat, stomping down a few more stairs. "If you come any closer I'll kick you directly in the fucking stomach, I mean it!"

"Where are you going, Lovino?" Feliciano called worriedly after his twin.

"I'm going to get my fucking _paints_ back!" Lovino shouted, his footsteps becoming distinctly louder and in Arthur's general direction.

When Lovino came into Arthur's line of vision, he was obviously crying but upon seeing Arthur he wiped a tear on the back of his sleeve, looking slightly humiliated.

Seeing him look so pitiful, Arthur was suddenly torn about berating the little arsewipe for his previous act of stupidity and comforting him, for at least Lovino shared Arthur's opinion about the school -

"Move!" Lovino bellowed at Arthur, glaring at him with murder in his eyes and pushing past him with a shove, causing Arthur to lose his grip of the suitcase and as a result, causing the suitcase to topple down a number of steps.

Arthur whipped the key out of his mouth and began following Lovino down the stairs in order to pick up his suitcase.

"Temperamental little brat." Arthur muttered loud enough for Lovino to hear.

"Uppity British asshole!" Lovino shouted up the staircase.

"I'm so sorry about him," Feliciano called down to Arthur, "My brother is...difficult at times."

"If by difficult you mean utterly impossible, I get what you mean." Arthur said through exasperated breaths, pulling his suitcase up to where Feliciano and Antonio were standing.

"Need help with that?" Antonio asked, reaching out for Arthur's case without waiting for an answer.

"I-If it's not too much trouble, thank you." Arthur smiled politely, inclining Antonio's offer and then letting his guitar case drop from his shoulder into his hand so he didn't look _completely_ useless.

"What room are you in?" Feliciano asked, falling behind Antonio to walk with Arthur.

Arthur read the inscription on his key "C-10."

"Lovino and I are in A-5 - the opposite corridor and Antonio is next door in room A-6!" Feliciano exclaimed excitedly.

"Well, at least you're here with people you actually _know_ - that must be nice." Arthur commented.

"Here we are!" Antonio said when they reached the top of the staircase. "This is corridor A - that one is B and then running off B is C, you got that?"

"I think so," Arthur said unsurely, "I can take it from here, thank you."

"See you around -" Feliciano began.

"Arthur." Arthur filled in the gap.

"See you around, Arthur!" Feliciano called with a wave of goodbye.

Arthur nodded as they left and then began to walk down corridor B. The walls were painted deep red with a golden border and the carpet must have once been cream, Arthur guessed, but couldn't truly make it out for muddy footprints and food stains and spilt paint. The corridors were lit with several dim lights and the walls were littered with paintings that were obviously crafted within the school (and if what Antonio had said _wasn't _a joke - by Lovino) and certificates of achievement - '_Poetry Competition - Fifteenth Place_', '_Best Short Play performed by a College' _(dated 1952)and '_Caretaker of the Year award_' which Arthur had to read over _three _times to convince himself he wasn't losing his mind.

Arthur made his way onto corridor C and was immediately met with the sound of a ringing bell, and, if he wasn't mistaken, _barking_. Yes. He really _had _lost his mind. Unless there was a _dog _running loose in the -

Sure enough, a dog, about the height of Arthur's ankle, was bounding towards him followed closely by a man slightly shorter than Arthur and, well, a man fairly _taller _than Arthur. Springing up towards him on it's fluffy, cotton-white hind legs, the dog bumped into him with minimal weight but, today being the unfortunate day that it was for Arthur, made him lose his balance regardless. Sprawled on the floor, the neck of his guitar digging uncomfortably in his spine, dog standing triumphantly on his chest, licking his face gently and probable dog-owners bent over him, looking half-worried and half-amused, Arthur had to wonder what he had done in his life to deserve this brutal onslaught of karma.

"I see you've found Hanatamago." The shorter man bent down and picked up the dog, brushing his light blond hair behind his ear while the taller man pulled Arthur onto his feet with such ease and force it almost sent Arthur toppling again once he was back on firm ground.

"Or more, _it _found _me_." Arthur grumbled, returning his case to an upright position.

"We _are _sorry," the shorter man said, smiling guiltily, "He runs off so often - that's why we put a bell on his collar."

"That's...clever," Arthur said awkwardly.

"My name is Tino," the shorter one smiled, shaking Arthur's hand warmly, "And that's Berwald." Berwald addressed Arthur with a grunt of acknowledgement.

He was originally going to yell at these people to keep their idiotic animal under control but was finding it taxing to be _too _unpleasant because Tino was being too kind and smiling too gently and Berwald, well, Berwald was _ever so slightly _intimidating.

So Arthur simply offered them his name in return.

"So what's your area of the arts, Arthur?" Tino asked, scratching Hanatamago behind the ears.

"Music," Arthur threw a thumb over his shoulder to his guitar case, "I play the guitar."

"Same as us!" Tino exclaimed, "We're in a band together!"

"W-well, I hope to find a band to be part of." Arthur admitted.

"That won't be a problem," Tino explained, "Just check the notice board - people are always wanting to put together a band because it makes music class easier and more fun, generally, if you work as a group."

"Oh?" Arthur asked, grateful for the help, "I will have to take a look at that, thank you."

"That's okay," Tino smiled and then patted Berwald on the arm, "We'll let you get settled in your dorm, Arthur. See you in music class!"

Arthur nodded and watched them enter room C-5, Tino's arm linking Berwald's and Hanatamago suddenly asleep, cradled in Tino's other arm.

Arthur finally made his way to the end of the corridor and stood outside of C-10. He hadn't even reached his god damn _room _yet and he'd already been made a victim of a self-important French git, verbally and physically assaulted by an irate Italian and pounced upon and consequently knocked over by a tiny fluffy animal. Arthur let out a sigh of exhaustion and ran a hand over his face. Could this day _get _any worse?

Arthur unlocked the door and stepped inside, firstly confused to see another suitcase in the room and secondly horrified as he realised he _recognised _the suitcase.

"Oh shit," he cursed under his breath, closing the door and glaring at the man who was standing casually by the window, "Oh buggering _bollocks_!"

"_Bonjour_!" The man waved at him with a laugh.

And so, Arthur learned that whenever you have to ask yourself the question _'Could this day get any worse?'_ the answer is always, _always_, yes.

* * *

Francis leant against the wall, admiring the view. If he was to be completely truthful, he'd have preferred a room on corridor B - that way, he would have the view of the school grounds instead of just the surrounding forest but he supposed it was sufficient. After all, he had been so late because of many plane delays that this had been the only free room. The room was pleasantly large, with a single bed on either side and a shabby, patterned rug in the center. It was decorated in shades of blue-green and bright, gaudy yellow and in its strange, hideous way, it was almost charming. Francis had initially chosen Green Acre College of the Arts because it _looked _so unkempt and grubby and like it had actually been worked in and lived in; not at all like those pretentious, so-called 'elite' schools in the big cities.

The delightful Brit he'd had the pleasure of encountering at the school entrance was bustling around the room in some kind of fit of agitation, wiping away at the grime-spots on the walls and inspecting the bed sheets with a grim expression on his face. Francis took the Englishman's silence as an opportunity to inspect him. He was a curious one; the bottom of his torn jeans covered in mud and dust as if he had been on a hiking trip prior to arriving at the school, dried blood smudged across his temple and scattered in one his..._impressive _eyebrows and his face fixed in a permanent scowl which Francis interpreted as a complement to his downright _adorable_ personality. To be honest, Francis didn't know whether to be offended by his new roommate's behaviour or simply _entertained_. He spontaneously decided that he had better smooth the tense atmosphere between them - mainly because he didn't want to waste energy despising the person he was going to have to live with for two years but also partly because it seemed to say his new friend had just had a terrible day would be an understatement.

"Look," Francis said, turning to address the Brit who barely acknowledged the attempt at conversation, "I think we got off on the wrong foot. How about we start over?"

His new roommate stopped suddenly and stood up straight, tilting his head backwards and breathing in and out as if he were calming - or preparing - himself for something. Francis grinned and waited for the Englishman to begin shouting and ranting at him to shut up but instead, he turned round and said, ever so quietly, and with an expression on his face that clearly meant this was hurting his pride as much as humanly possible, "I apologise for my earlier behaviour. It was...uncalled for."

Francis quirked an eyebrow. Apparently the man wasn't as easy to read as he'd anticipated. Interesting.

"That being said," The man was apparently over his sudden phase of civility and back to glaring at Francis, "I don't see _why _we have to share a room."

"You had to realise we would be put together in a room - we were, after all, the last ones here, _mon ami_." Francis said matter-of-factly.

"Call me Arthur, please." Arthur requested, cringing slightly at the way Francis addressed him.

"Arthur?" Francis repeated.

"Arthur Kirkland," Arthur said, reaching his hand forward as if to shake Francis' and then thinking the better of it and retracting it. "And you are?"

"Francis Bonnefoy." Francis said, smiling and flicking his hair over his shoulder.

"So how come you were so late, _Francis_?" Arthur asked, placing a certain emphasis on Francis' name that Francis didn't really like.

"Well, while _you _were having your own private battle with yourself, _Arthur_, _my _plane from Paris to _Angleterre _got severely delayed." Francis explained.

"So you _are _French." Arthur muttered, mainly to himself.

"_Très obsevant_." Francis remarked dryly.

"And you're what - eighteen? Nineteen?" Arthur asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor by the bed on the right-hand-side of the room.

"Nineteen." Francis obliged the question and sat down by the bed on the opposite side of the room.

"So this is your second year?" Arthur asked, leaning his guitar against the cleanest spot he could find on the wall.

"_Non_, my first. I took a year out of..._formal _education and got some work experience in Paris." Francis said casually as he began to dig through his suitcase.

Arthur nodded and then noticed the easel set up in the corner of the room, "So, you're an artist?"

"An actor," Francis smirked, shaking his head and doing a flamboyant little bow as he pulled a bottle of wine from his case, "Want some?"

Arthur pulled a face but inclined the invitation regardless. Francis poured Arthur a glass and handed it to him. Tentatively, Arthur sipped the rich red drink, wincing at the taste.

"Damn, that's awful," Arthur commented and Francis shrugged, indulging in his own glass, "So why the easel, then?"

"Art is a hobby of sorts for me. Among other hobbies, of course." Francis smiled, swirling the wine in his glass around.

"Hmm?" Arthur asked, gulping down the remainder of alcohol in his glass and handing it to Francis to refill.

"One can never have too many areas of interest - art, literature, fine wine, sex -" Francis began, filling both his and Arthur's wine glasses back up to the brim.

"I don't think sex really constitutes as a hobby." Arthur said in disdain.

"Then you obviously haven't been doing it properly, _mon cher_." Francis laughed.

To this, Arthur blushed furiously and furrowed his eyebrows, suddenly extremely interested in the contents of his wine glass.

"Aah -" Francis offered him a sly, knowing smirk, "Or _at all_, if that expression is anything to read into."

"S- so you took a year out?" Arthur said, leaning back against the bed and changing the subject.

"_Oui_, _oui_," Francis nodded, "I mainly took part in a few awful independent films but it was good to immerse myself in the field, if you know what I-"

"Sure, sure," Arthur mumbled, shoving his second emptied glass towards Francis, "Fill her up."

Francis laughed, obliging Arthur's request, "Are you sure you can handle this wine, _mon ami_? It _is_ rather strong."

"Shut up," Arthur snapped, "I'm fine."

"Whatever you say," Francis muttered, "Anyway, what about you? You don't really seem like you want to be here."

"Too right I don't." Arthur scoffed, "I actually wanted to go to The Royal. It's a big, elite academy back home in London. It's been my dream school since, well, since _forever_, I guess."

"So," Francis threw a glance towards Arthur's guitar, "You're a musician from the city?"

"Original, I know," Arthur said darkly, "But yes, I'm a musician."

"Trying to make it big or just trying to get by?" Francis asked, draining the contents of his glass and watching Arthur do the same.

"Trying to make it big - or at least, that's the dream." Arthur grinned, green eyes positively glowing with purpose. There was a spark in Arthur in that moment that made Francis' heart almost skip a beat - for if there was one thing that Francis admired in another person, it was drive - ambition and the will to fulfill it.

"Is that right?" he asked, smiling.

Arthur nodded and leant back against the bed, closing his eyes. The wine had made him feel warm and full and dazed.

"It's my dream too - fame and fortune and the like," Francis said, running his thumbs round the edge of the glass, "I've always wanted to be an actor-"

"It suits you." Arthur mumbled sleepily, not opening his eyes.

"That's what I've been told," Francis said proudly, "We should hold a competition or something, Arthur - a kind of race. Which one of us will get famous first? What do you say?"

Francis' only answer, however, was a drunken almost-snore. Francis snorted - Arthur _must _have had a long day for he'd already dozed off, his head lulling downwards and his arms looped around his knees.

Francis stood up and stretched, tossing the empty wine bottle back into his bag. Then, he walked over to where Arthur was sleeping on the floor and picked him up, depositing him on the bed. Arthur immediately curled up into the blanket, pulling it over himself. Francis shook his head and pulled Arthur's boots off, tossing them on the floor and then Arthur began to mumble and giggle in his sleep and Francis wasn't sure if it was just the wine talking but with his cheeks aglow with alcohol and with a lazy smile on his face as he stupidly sleep-talked, Arthur actually looked kind of _cute _and -

"Poncey French tosser -"

Oh _yes_, Francis thought, sighing in annoyance and going over to the other side of the room and settling himself on his own bed, it was most _definitely _the wine talking.


	2. Chapter 2

**FROM SEPARATE STAGES**

**chapter two.**

**

* * *

**As he woke up, Arthur wished for a moment that when he'd open his eyes he'd be anywhere _but _Green Acre. Home would be nice - waking up to the familiar rumble of the London Underground dashing around beneath the house or perhaps to the comforting blasts of car-horns and angry screaming that accompanied the constant-traffic-jam. Or, Arthur mused, with just a lucky twist of fortune, he would wake up in a modern and lavish dorm at The Royal and he would -

"_Bonjour! _Arthur! Are you awake?"

But, as recent circumstances had dictated for Arthur, he would have _no such luck_.

Groaning, Arthur rolled away from the surprisingly perky Frenchman trying to give him a wake-up call.

"It's past noon, _mon ami_." Francis called.

Arthur sighed and sat up, wincing at the rush of pain that swam dully through his head and reaching up to prod his ripely-bruised temple.

"Headache?" Francis asked with an innocent smile.

"This is _your _fault, you worthless dickend." Arthur growled, flopping back down to his pillow

"_Moi_?" Francis gasped incredulously, raising a hand to his chest in mock-horror, "How so?"

"Pouring that horseshit down my throat, masquerading it as 'fine wine' and getting me drunk." Arthur said through clenched teeth.

"Don't flatter yourself, _cher _Arthur!" Francis retorted, "It was you who gulped it down like a parched trout and I shall have you know that 'that horseshit' was extremely expensive and you drank far more than your fair share!"

It was around this time that Arthur noticed Francis was already dressed - sipping coffee from a plastic cup and flicking through what looked like a pupil handbook. Not only that - it seemed Francis had also made time in his morning to _unpack _and decorate his side of his room with posters of flamboyant-looking French actors and set up a fucking vase of _roses_ on his bedside table. Arthur exhaled sharply. How come Francis had fit in a whole day's worth of activities before _he_ had even woken up?

"It tasted like the underside of a tramp's tongue!" Arthur snapped suddenly even more annoyed at Francis than he already was.

Francis scoffed and waved his hand at Arthur dismissively, "_You_, Arthur, are nothing more than a tasteless oaf."

"I need a cup of tea." Arthur grumbled, rolling out of bed clumsily and attempting to stretch.

"Like I said," Francis said with a smirk, "_Tasteless_."

"So where can I make myself a decent cup of Earl Grey in this place?" Arthur asked impatiently.

"There's a kettle in the common room." Francis said before going back to browsing the pupil handbook.

"Good," Arthur said, before adding petulantly - "I can finally get away from _you_."

Francis let out a low, delighted laugh and Arthur felt himself flush slightly. Looking down, he realised he was still wearing yesterday's dirty clothes but decided he'd just shower and change after he'd had his morning tea. However, Arthur found himself stopping when he reached the door handle.

"Problem, Arthur?" Francis asked without even throwing a glance towards the door.

"Uh- Where _is _the common room?" Arthur asked, feeling rather stupid.

"Go down that narrow passage running off corridor B. You should spot it - it's really not that hard to find." Francis explained breezily.

"Right." Arthur hesitated, contemplating whether or not to bother his roommate for any further help.

"You want me to hold your hand and take you there or-" Francis began.

"_No._" Arthur barked.

"Then what is it, Arthur?" Francis asked, finally turning round to smile in Arthur's direction.

"You don't know where the notice board is, do you?" Arthur enquired, the question coming out a little faster than he'd expected.

"It's just outside the common room, actually," Francis said, making Arthur assume he'd also memorised the entire fucking _layout _of the college while he'd been sleeping, "On the right-hand-side of the door."

"Right," Arthur nodded and toyed with the idea of saying 'Thank-you' before brushing that thought aside and leaving the dorm. Halfway down corridor C, however, he let out a frustrated sigh and marched himself back down to the room, poked his head round the door and shouted 'Thanks!' in a tone that made Francis think he perhaps wasn't thankful in the slightest but, at the very least, meant his manners were certainly improving.

* * *

The tea, as it happened, was _delicious_ and at once, Arthur considered it Green Acre's one true silver lining and wondered if it would be inappropriate to burst into tears of joy or into a dance of celebration in the middle of the common room. Not that anyone would probably notice - there were only three other people in the common room. On the far side was a young man with pale skin and white-blond hair lying on his back, seemingly napping and listening to a pair of headphones at such a high volume that Arthur could hear the song all the way over in the kitchen. Closer to Arthur, were two more students - a young woman, lying on her front, flicking through a magazine and pinning her shiny-brown hair back with flower pins and a rather severe-looking, bespectacled young man with a somewhat elegant air about him tuning a violin.

Arthur stirred his tea dreamily and wandered out towards the notice board. There were two notices that caught Arthur's attention - one that began in a simple fashion - _'Looking for band members' _and piqued Arthur's interest until he got to the part where it stated the band would be concentrating on classical music. The other poster was centered around Arthur's specialist area of music - _'I want you to join my awesome punk band!' _but the design of the poster slightly worried Arthur. Firstly, it appeared it had been drawn in fucking _crayon _and secondly, the poster depicted a stick figure pointing a finger forwards in a Lord-Kitchener-esque manner which true, wasn't that bizarre in itself - the creepy thing, however, was that the stick figure didn't have a head. In fact, where it's head was supposed to be was a scribbled yellow and orange oval that Arthur could only guess was supposed to be some kind of little bird. Arthur sipped his tea in contemplation. He could either join a band that sounded normal enough but in which he would be playing music he didn't particularly _want_ to play or he could join the type of band he really wished to be in - a punk band - but be stuck with band mates who were, to put it bluntly, absolutely fucking insane.

Eventually, he concluded that probably _everybody_ in this bloody asylum was going to be a touch insane and, as the old saying goes, if you can't beat them, join them. Sighing, Arthur read the rest of the poster which merely said _'See Gilbert in the common room!' _and then, written underneath and surrounded by pink-purple glitter was '_If he's asleep just wake him up!_' Arthur laughed out loud to himself. This was going to be a _long _two years.

* * *

Although Arthur couldn't comprehend how _anybody _could sleep if they were listening to their headphones on full volume, he had to hand it to Gilbert - the guy had good taste in music. He was definitely listening to the Sex Pistols - _Great Rock n Roll Swindle _if Arthur wasn't mistaken (and he wasn't). He was wearing torn jeans, not at all unlike the ones Arthur was wearing, a t-shirt that looked like it was made out of cut-up newspaper articles and a shiny red jacket with a silver lightning bolt emblem down the side. At first, Arthur nudged Gilbert in the arm with the tip of his shoe but he didn't even stir.

"Hey!" Arthur called out before realising that trying to talk to someone listening to the Sex Pistols at full volume was the very definition of futile.

Eventually, Arthur settled on grabbing Gilbert by the shoulders and shaking him until he woke up.

"What the hell do you want?" Gilbert snapped loudly, "I'm trying to fucking _sleep_ here!"

"Well - the notice said to wake you up." Arthur replied indignantly, folding his arms across his chest.

"Notice?" Gilbert asked, frowning and pulling off his headphones.

"You know," Arthur explained, pointing in the general direction of the notice board, "Your notice?"

Gilbert shook his head, "Not ringing any bells, man."

Damn, Arthur mused, he really _was_ a simpleton.

"The notice that said you were looking for band members - you're Gilbert, right?" Arthur said in exasperation.

"Oh! Too right I am! You wanna join my band?" Gilbert snapped upright all of a sudden, grinning.

"Well, yeah." Arthur nodded.

"Awesome!" Gilbert stood up and slapped Arthur on the back a little too enthusiastically, "What do you play?"

"I play guitar," Arthur said, "And I do vocals."

"Well, guitar's great - but we don't need vocals." Gilbert told Arthur, smiling proudly.

"Oh? You've already got someone?" Arthur couldn't help feel slightly disappointed.

"Well, duh, the awesome me, of course!" Gilbert exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air.

"Oh." Arthur said blankly, suppressing the urge to add an "Are you serious?"

"I also play drums," Gilbert went on "So you can take over the vocals _sometimes_, I mean -"

"There's only the two of us?" Arthur questioned in disbelief.

"So far, man," Gilbert said, "But once everyone hears how incredible we sound, they'll be begging to join!"

Arthur nodded then asked a little unsurely, "Can you give me a demonstration of your singing? J- just so I know whether I want to be part of your band."

"Sure thing!" Gilbert yelled, then climbed up onto the settee he'd previously been sleeping on and began to, well, sing.

That was, if Arthur could even call it singing. He felt his mouth twitch open in horror as Gilbert screamed into an invisible microphone, stopping every now and again to cough or splutter. He was 'singing' - or more, _roaring _in a language Arthur eventually figured out was _supposed _to be German but could very well just be a language Gilbert had made up himself. Then, with a final shout, Gilbert hopped down from his stage and gave a clumsy bow.

"What do you think?" he asked in all seriousness, "Totally cool, huh?"

Arthur was having trouble articulating what he thought into actual words so for a while, merely stood there and shook his head, wishing it were possible to un-hear such atrocities.

"That," he finally began, "Wasn't even singing, Gilbert. That was just screeching and occasional retching. What _I_ think it was, if you'll pardon me for saying, is fucking abysmal."

"What's a bysmal?" Gilbert asked, mood unfazed.

"Your singing is abysmal." Arthur replied.

"Yeah," Gilbert nodded, "But what _is _a bysmal?"

"Your _singing_, Gilbert." Arthur was feeling himself becoming very frustrated by this point.

"I _know_!" Gilbert cried, becoming rather annoyed himself, "But what the fuck _is _a bysmal?"

"Your singing!" Arthur shouted, unable to keep his composure.

"What _about _my singing?" Gilbert screamed, trying to outdo Arthur in the volume department and succeeding.

"It's abysmal!" Arthur was positively fuming by this point.

"_What_ is a bysmal?" Gilbert asked again.

By this point, Arthur had worked out that they weren't really on the same page.

"I mean," he said, trying to regain a certain sense of calmness in his voice, "That your singing is awful."

"What?" Gilbert snapped and before Arthur could retort, Gilbert rounded himself on the two spectators in the room, both of whom were staring at the new band mates in incredulity.

"Hey Eliza!" Gilbert yelled towards the young woman, who immediately began to roll her eyes, "You think my singing's awesome, don't you? Serenaded you on numerous occasions, ain't I? You know it's true!"

"No, Gilbert," she called back, her voice surprisingly loud, "You should listen to your new friend - your singing _is_ fucking abysmal."

"Whoa!" Gilbert shouted suddenly, "Who's fucking a bysmal?"

"You." she retorted, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" Gilbert exclaimed, "I certainly _ain't _fucked any bysmals."

It was around this time the brunette in the corner stopped tuning his violin and covered his face with a hand, exhaling sharply.

"Elizaveta," he suddenly addressed the young woman next to him, "I think we should leave here before I begin to lose my mind."

Elizaveta turned to the man, her expression softening, "Of course, Roderich, dear."

Gilbert turned to Arthur and prodded him in the chest with his finger.

"Maybe you should leave too, man!" he said sternly, "If my singing is so terrible, you can just go form your own band, jerkass."

"I -" Arthur began but found he couldn't get a word in.

"No, really! Who needs you? I've done shows all by my awesome self all the time! _All the time_! I've been super-amazingly well-received and everything! So - so_ there_!" Gilbert continued, grinning manically.

Arthur snorted.

"Yeah?" he scoffed, "Well, I don't want to be a part of your piss-poor, sack-of-shite, scream-until-you-choke-on-your-own-tongue, so-called 'band'!"

Arthur followed Elizaveta and Roderich's lead and began to leave the common room, shaking his head as he went, but as he reached the door -

"Hey!" Gilbert called out to him suddenly.

Arthur whipped round, expecting Gilbert to throw his headphones at him or something.

"Do you wanna share vocals?"

Arthur paused, feeling his will deflate. After all, Gilbert was his only option right now and sharing vocals with a maniac in a punk band was better than having no punk band at all.

"Yeah," he grinned, "Okay."

"Fan-fucking-tastic!" Gilbert ran over and shook Arthur's hand as if they were making some kind of pact, "Here's to our two-man band, partner!"

* * *

A band. He, Arthur Kirkland, was finally in a mother-fucking _band_! Of course, he knew he would be at some point, but for it to happen so quickly… it seemed like something out of a dream! Sure, the quality of the band was slightly questionable but that could be overlooked for once they worked on their sound, Arthur was sure he could even make _Gilbert_ tolerable to listen to. Maybe Green Acre _wasn't _as bad as he'd assumed. Grinning smugly to himself, Arthur pulled open the door to his dorm to find Francis fully immersed in 'The Green Acre Guide to Student Life'. He was stretched out on his bed, bathed in sunlight with the guide in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. _All he needed was a pair of fluffy ears and a tail and he'd look like a bloody cat_, Arthur mused to himself. Looking up from the booklet, the Frenchman cast him a quizzical look.

"And what has you looking so cheerful all of a sudden, _mon ami_? It is most unlike you, but not unwelcome, I must say!"

Quickly dropping the grin and adopting his usual frown, Arthur ignored him and slammed the door shut.

"Did you acquire a band mate?" Francis asked.

"I acquired someone who," Arthur paused, "_Resembles _a band mate."

Francis chuckled, "Who is the lucky man?"

"His name's Gilbert." Arthur explained, unzipping his suitcase.

"Ah! Gilbert! I met him this morning! Such a wonderful, lively sort of person. An ideal band member, _oui_?" Francis smiled widely.

Arthur shook his head. _Interesting how idiots attract other idiots_, he thought. Keeping his back to the room's other occupant, Arthur began to search through his suitcase for toiletries and fresh clothes, deciding that now was the _perfect_ opportunity for a shower, whilst attempting to tune out the sounds of approval and interest that kept sprouting from the other side of the room.

"Oh! Have you heard, _mon ami_? There is to be a relationship building event this tomorrow! We will be divided into two teams, and there will be a number of tasks we must complete in order to finish the event; a scavenger hunt, a tug-of-war across the river, and some sort of obstacle course through the trees … It all sounds very exciting, wouldn't you agree, _mon cher_?"

After hearing the words 'relationship building' and 'teams' in the same utterance, Arthur decided he wanted to end his life right fucking _there_ and _then_. He turned around to face the man lounging on the opposite bed.

"You're taking the fucking piss, right?"

"_Non_, I assure you, it says it all right here. Along with the statement that '_all students must attend unless they wish to take charge of cleaning duties for the first term.'_ Although, I cannot see why anyone would want to miss such an opportunity…Arthur?"

The person in question was now on his feet, possessions bundled under one arm as he strode towards to door.

"Where are you going?"

"Fuck this. I'm taking a shower."

* * *

By the time Arthur has finished in the shower and dressed, dinner was almost ready in the college canteen. He was making his way back down the corridor and past the common room when a tall, tanned man with hair that was rather messy and slightly curled rounded the corner; he looked too old to be a student, but the cleaning gloves sticking out of his pocket gave the impression that he wasn't a teacher either.

"You're not one of the little shits who's been flinging paint on the school courtyard are you?"

Taken aback, all Arthur could do was frown and blink at the man._ No, _he thought,_ definitely not a teacher._

"…Umm no."

"'Cause paint is a bitch to clean up, and when I catch who it was I'll fling _them_ on the courtyard and see how they like it. I'm Cassian by the way, the _award-winning _caretaker here. And you are?"

"Uh, Arthur. Arthur Kirkland."

"Please to meet you Arthur; it's nice to meet a student who's not so completely stuck up his own arse that he's unable to be civil to others. Anyway, I suppose dinners nearly ready, so I'll see you around!"

Slapping the Brit hard on the back he moved past him, humming tunelessly to himself.

_Yeah,_ Arthur thought, _I've definitely come to the wrong place. This is a fucking mental asylum. _

* * *

Down the large flight of stairs and around the corner, Arthur finally arrived at his destination. The canteen was decorated in, what he assumed has once been fresh colours; pale lemon walls, now slightly faded and looking rather sickly, with peeling and scratched duck-egg blue skirting boards. One wall of the room was dedicated to a set of French windows, opening out onto what seemed to be an outdoor eating area that consisted of a selection of mismatched and unstable looking tables and chairs.

Being the first to arrive, Arthur sat himself in the furthest corner of the room and awaited the arrival of the other students.

The first to arrive were the Italian brothers, Feliciano almost skipping with delight at the idea of food whilst Lovino and Antonio followed at a more sedate pace. Then came two blonds who also appeared to be brothers, but like the Italians they couldn't be more different; one was grinning and talking loudly whilst the other merely listened, nodding or passing a quiet comment occasionally. For a while it continued much the same, students trickling in and talking amongst themselves - that was, until Gilbert arrived.

Standing on the nearest table, much to the embarrassment of his friends, he whistled to gain the attention of those around him.

"Oi! You all listening? 'Course you are, I'm too awesome to be ignored,"

Roderich rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, I've been told that there's this nancy relationship building event going on tomorrow and I decided that we should pick teams now. Otherwise we'll have to do it in the morning and that extra half hour could be spent sleeping rather than standing in the fucking cold, right? So just write your name on the sign up posters outside the common room before tomorrow and everyone's happy as fucking larry!"

Looking rather pleased with himself, Gilbert climbed down from the table and it was at this point he spotted Arthur.

"Alright Arty?"

Arthur scowled; he hated nicknames, but that was the worst of the worst.

"You'll be on my team, right? 'Cause we're _band buddies_, and band buddies stick together! Right?" He nudged Arthur in the ribs.

"Actually, I'm not taking part."

Gilbert choked on the water he'd just gulped down.

"W-what? Why? But we need you Arty! Who else is going to read the map and solve the puzzles for us?"

"Leave him be, _mon cher_, he's been behaving like a petulant child all day. What use is a petulant child to a team that aims to win?" Francis smirked, only making Arthur's scowl even more prominent. _When the fuck did he arrive? Must have slipped in when everyone was listening to Gilbert, the bastard…_

"And anyway, he'll probably be no use to us. Look at those short little legs! And if he continues to frown like that, those caterpillars resting on his face will most definitely get in the wa-"

"Oh for fucks _sake_! Fine! I'll bloody well join in if it's so important to you sods. And my legs are _not_ short!"

"Whatever you say, _mon ami_-"

"That's the spirit, Arty! With you and Francis on the team I- _we'll_ be sure to win!" Gilbert punched the air, a triumphant grin threatening to split his face in two.

Arthur merely buried his head in his hands. _What the fuck have I got myself into now?_

"Cheer up," Francis said, "The world hasn't ended yet. And look! They've put the food out!"

Lifting his head, the Englishman could now see the crowd of hungry students flocking to the end of the canteen, chatting and chirping along the way like a mass of hungry chickens.

"I do hope it's not just fish and chips, I don't think my poor stomach could survive that every day!"

"What's wrong with fish and chips? Too heavy for your prissy little French belly?"

"Well if they're anything like what I sampled at the service station on the way here, then most definitely. _En plus_, if we're to be running around the forest tomorrow I do not want something as heavy as that to be weighing me down and causing a disadvantage."

"You're such a fucking woman."

And with that parting comment, Arthur made his way over to join the crowd.

* * *

"I must say, that was the worst piece of beef I've ever had the misfortune to taste in my entire life! _Mon dieu_! It tasted like it had been wallowing in a pit of earth for most of its life!"

"Well it did come from a _cow,_ you daft twat."

"_Oui,_ but surely in England you do not kill your cows and proceed to bury them before eating?"

Arthur shook his head and strode past the complaining Frenchman, now muttering to himself in his native language, making his way back to their dorm in the hope of getting some sleep before tackling whatever it was they were facing tomorrow.

* * *

Getting up early was pretty high on Arthur's list of least favourite things, along with coffee, losing and replacing broken guitar strings. If there was anything that would make it even _more _disagreeable it would be being _made_ to wake up early by an insane Frenchman who is, himself, entirely too fucking happy for this time of day. Said Frenchman was currently pressing his palms at either side of Arthur's head and bouncing the mattress, waking him up.

"_Bon matin, mon petit chou_! It's lovely and sunny outside - perfect for today's activities! I even made you some tea, look!"

Arthur groaned.

"Alright, all _right_. I'm awake."

"_Non_, your eyes are still shut."

Arthur opened his eyes wide and sat up abruptly, colliding head first with the boiling cup of tea which Francis was _oh_ so kindly holding just a few centimeters from his forehead.

"Just what in the name of all things fucking holy d'you think you're doing?!"

"I told you I'd made you some tea-"

"Yes. But did you have to hang it above my face? You could have burned me!"

"And that would be such a shame, _mon cher_. I can't imagine how difficult it would be to remove it from your eyebrows."

Francis dumped the cup on the bedside table, it's contents sloshing out of the sides, and strode back over to his side of the room. It was here that Arthur noticed the Frenchman's outfit.

"What on _earth_ are those?"

"_Quoi, mon ami?"_

Arthur pointed in the direction of Francis' legs.

"Oh, these? They're jodhpurs of course!"

"Well yes. I know _that_, but for fucks sake, why are they_ bright_ _blue_? And why are you wearing them _now_?"

"They are not bright blue. They're _aquamarine_. I felt that they would be highly suitable, given today's activities. You'll be wishing you had some after half an hour of running about in a pair of scruffy jeans."

"I can assure you, I will _never_ wish I owned a pair of those. They're an abomination!"

"Oh stop being such a sour puss and drink your tea. Then once you're dressed you can meet me in the entrance hall so we can get started, _bon_?"

"Whatever."

After hearing the door slam shut, Arthur pulled the covers back over his head.

"Fuck, fuck, fucking _fuck!_"

* * *

Downstairs, the level of enthusiasm from the other students wasn't all that greater than the one he had just left behind, Francis mused. Students were slumped sleepily on every available surface - from the bottom steps of staircases to bench-tops, or, in Gilbert's case, at the end of the banister, whilst teachers handed out maps and instructions for the event.

The drama teacher, Mr. Adelbert Coen, cleared his throat and stood in the centre of the room.

"We want you all to understand that this event is strictly non-competitive - an ice-breaker if you will," he was frowning disapprovingly at the fatigued students, hands clasped behind his back, "It is a wonderful opportunity to get to know one another and enjoy yourselves whilst being able to build on your team-work and strategy skills. Any questions?"

The loud American, Alfred, raised a hand.

"What's the prize for the winner?"

"As I said previously, this is a non-competitive event so there will be no winner."

"W-what? But this is an _event_! How can there be no winner? _Someone_ needs a prize at the end - there needs to be a hero!" He was looking quite scandalized now, standing with fists clenched at his sides and blue eyes wide with disbelief.

"Sorry to disappoint you Mr. Jones, but no prizes. Is that everything then?" Once he'd received a few nods in answer Mr Coen continued, running a hand through his long, braided hair "After completing the tasks, you will be expected to return here for a summary of the event and your evening meal. You may begin!"

He was obviously expecting a chorus of cheers and the pounding of eager feet as a response, however all he received were sleepy mumbles as the tired teens struggled to stand and stumbled out of the building.

Francis turned, hoping to see Arthur making his way downstairs. However, he did not. Rolling his eyes, he leant back against the wall. _Five minutes. If he is not here in five minutes I shall leave without him._ Five turned to ten and ten to twenty before Arthur finally showed up, dark-eyed and messy-haired in a pair of jogging bottoms and a green t-shirt.

"Where is everyone?" He muttered, frowning slightly.

"They've all left, _mon ami_, because you decided to take your sweet time in getting here. So we better leave now if we actually want to find anything for the first task."

Arthur grumbled under his breath and followed Francis out of the building, hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders slumped.

* * *

**A/N:** Mr Adelbert Coen is Germania and Cassian the caretaker is Ancient Rome. Just clearing things up!


	3. Chapter 3

**FROM SEPARATE STAGES**

**chapter three.**

**

* * *

**The September-morning sky hung deep and low around the Green Acre grounds; powdery mist dripping through the surrounding woods and dew-drops littering every surface of green. The sky was white as bone and the air was damp and sharply cold. Along the country horizon, ivory-orange clouds bled over the tops of the trees, saturated and aglow with the early-morning sunlight and billowing along the skyline in a way that made the woodland look like it was on fire. An eclectic assortment of trees littered the area, from purple and copper beeches, to spiny blackthorns and pink-grey sycamore stumps. They were all around - thick and overcast with their red-brown leaves cascading downwards and covering the ground like a layer of crumpled cellophane. Almost like cardboard cut-outs, they bordered the path to the center of the woodland on the left of the school, their black twigs forming jagged, crooked silhouettes against the earth. The bitter-sour scent in the air was a curious mixture of bark, rain and, faintly, autumn daffodils. Arthur found that the further they ventured into the woods, the muddier the ground became. He kept coughing and spluttering, finding the country air to be quite different to that of the city's. Kicking at the clumps of wet dirt and leaves that stuck annoyingly to his shoes and swatting hopelessly at the multitude of insects who had decided he was their new favourite person, Arthur found himself increasingly disliking the outdoors and the prospect of 'relationship-building' in such a foul environment with every step he took. Francis, however, was walking alongside him in silence, looking up at the bird-scattered sky with his hands laced casually at the back of his neck and, seemingly, actually enjoying his walk through the forest.

By the time they had caught up with the group, the brisk morning breeze seemed to have perked up a number of them, that is, if the raised voices and aggressive body language was anything to go by. Joining the throng of angry teens, Arthur and Francis strained to catch up with the conversation. It seemed that Alfred, the self-appointed leader of team number two, had already left with his group instead of waiting with Gilbert's team and had therefore gained a head start. This revelation was, shockingly enough, the main cause of the uproar.

"I mean, how fucking rude is _that_!" Gilbert was at the centre of the group, pacing back and forth in the little space of woodland he had as he shouted. "We're team awesome! You don't just fucking wander off away from us! We'll show the fuckers."

Arthur shoved his way to the front of the crowd, sighing angrily and folding his arms, "Well, instead of standing here wasting time why don't we just get on with it and bloody well _move_?"

"_You_!" Gilbert rounded on Arthur, jabbing at him accusingly with his finger, "It's your fault we're in this mess. If you had just woken up on time like the rest of us we wouldn't have this problem!"

The Englishman rolled his eyes as he snatched the map and instructions from Gilbert's fists and then, ignoring the spluttering protests of the German, he turned to the group.

"It says here that each item hidden in the forest has something to do with the school and that there are twelve items all together."

Frowns and confused muttering circulated around the congregation of teens until Francis finally piped up.

"_Mon dieu_-the school offers twelve subjects to study, and there are twelve items to find, so, obviously th-"

"The items must have something to with each subject! Fuck, how smart am I?!" Gilbert concluded, looking very proud of himself and beaming at those around him.

"Yes, _thank_ _you_ detective dumb-fuck. Now that we've moved past _that_ mile stone, how about we actually get looking for them?" Arthur snapped, voice laden with sarcasm.

Needing no more encouragement, the German teen took off, manically running into the woods and leaving the rest of the group staring after him, dumbfounded.

Arthur sighed and brought a hand to his brow, "How long d'you think it'll be before he realises we still have all the directions to actually find the bloody stuff?"

* * *

"I still say it'll be up a tree."

"Gilbert, why the fucking hell would an item to do with _acting_ be up a tree?" asked Arthur, his tone still echoing the feelings of disbelief that had started five minutes previously when the conversation had begun.

"Maybe you've gotta act for it! You know - you might have to pretend to be a - a bird or something - and birds live in trees!" Gilbert concluded, hitting his palm with his fist as if he'd come up with a solution to all the world's problems.

"I must say that in all my past acting experiences I have never had to play the part of _un oiseau_."

Gilbert snorted, "Well you obviously aren't a very good actor then."

In the hope of finding more items in less time, Gilbert had decided to split the group up. Needless to say, that particular plan wasn't turning out to be all that successful. Gilbert, Antonio, Lovino, Arthur and Francis had decided to examine the left side of the woods whilst the others opted for hunting down any items they could find on the right.

"Look! What's that up there?"

"That's a plastic shopping bag, Gilbert." Francis informed him in the way one probably would a small child, or, more appropriately, the village idiot.

"Fuck! Quick! Someone climb up there and get it! Antonio, you're the athletic one - you do it!" He was jumping up and down now, pointing and waving wildly at his grand discovery.

"But I do not climb about trees like a monkey - I _dance_." Antonio replied, shrugging his shoulders.

Arthur was just staring at them by this point. _'How?' _he thought to himself_ 'How in the name of fuck did I manage to be stuck in the god damn woods with a bunch of imbeciles?'_

"What on earth does a plastic shopping bag have to do with _anything_, never mind acting? Just look at it - it's full of holes and looks like it's been there for several decades." Francis remarked dryly.

Francis looked about as bored as Arthur felt, crouching on the ground and scrutinising the 'clues' in front of him.

"Who cares? We can't just leave one of the items floating about up there - I thought we all wanted to win!"

Lovino, who was more irritated than Arthur by this point, muttered a profanity in Italian under his breath and stormed off further into the woods. Following his lead, Francis, Arthur and Antonio all meandered after him.

"Hey! Where the fuck are you all going? What about the plastic bag?"

Gilbert was left standing on his own in the clearing, looking for all the world like someone's lost puppy. Contemplating whether to catch up with his teammates or attempt to climb the tree himself for the sake of the group, Gilbert shuffled from one foot to another and then, a twig snapped somewhere behind him.

"Wait for me, you bastards!"

* * *

Three hours and eleven items later, they were finally on track for the last item; Francis was sitting cross-legged on a tree-stump and was reading out the remaining instructions whilst Arthur stood nearby, browsing what seemed to be the millionth fucking elm tree he'd seen that day.

Through the center of the woodland was a small, narrow river with tiny, crooked streams running off from it in all different directions. The water was surrounded by waterlogged river-banks; tilting slightly and, of course, so thickly smeared with mud that they would probably devour someone whole like quicksand if somebody dared to walk upon them.

"Fashion design is the only one left now." Francis commented, "The keywords provided are fabric, colourful, everyday and wearable."

"Well that's fucking creative. Something to do with fashion design? Oh! Oh I know! Let's leave them - wait for it - let's leave them a pile of _clothes_! Honestly, it's a bloody _arts college_; you'd think they'd be able to come up with something better than that!" Arthur kicked the nearest tree.

"Oi, arsewipes!" Gilbert was standing somewhere to the left of them and alongside the river than ran down the middle of the forest. He laughed loudly and pointed at something in the bushes next to him. "Come and have a look at this. Looks like someone's taken a skinny dip in the river and their mates hid his clothes! Well, I can understand why they'd have hidden them, I mean look at them - they're hideous! Bright green trousers, pink shirt…" The list of remaining clothes fell on deaf ears as Arthur turned to face Francis.

It seemed they had found the last item.

"Gilbert! Pick up the clothes!" Arthur shouted over to his laughing band mate.

"What? Are you insane, man? You don't know who's been wearing these! They might have had, I don't know, fucking _fleas_ or something," he exclaimed, looking rather disgruntled.

"Just pick up the fucking clothes!" Arthur commanded, "They're the last item!"

"Seriously?" Gilbert's face lit up "Fucking hell yes! We've done it! We've beaten the others! We-"

His celebratory outcries were suddenly dominated by the arrival of Alfred and his team, yelling to each other excitedly as they appeared on other side of the river.

"Hey! Have you guys found the second task yet?" Alfred called out to them, waving a hand in the air.

Slowly, Arthur and the others shook their heads.

"The instructions say that the final item should lead us to the place of the second event - so it must have something to do with the river, right?" Francis ran a hand through his already ruffled hair, pulling out a leaf that must have became tangled there at some point.

Each team began to wander around the area, keeping to the river edge in hope of finding any clues. Arthur was becoming more and more irritated with each slowly passing minute, wandering further out into the wood than the rest of his classmates.

_'For fucks sake…' _He found he had to stop himself from curling up into a ball underneath a bush and crying, or dying, or possibly both - no matter how inviting the prospect sounded, '_I didn't even want to do this in the first place and now I'm stuck in the middle of the forest, wandering around like a bloody lunat-ow! What kind of imbecile leaves a load of rope lying around!'_

"_Mon cher,_ do look where you are going." Francis wandered up behind Arthur, smirking at his roommate who had taken to lying in a heap on the floor, "I do not want it to be my responsibility to explain to the headmaster that you could not return to the college because you had fallen down and rolled into the river, drowning yourself or something equally ridiculous."

Arthur gazed up at Francis from his position on the floor, eyebrows furrowing deeper than the Frenchman thought humanly possible.

"Shut up you wanker! I just tripped over a huge pile of fucking rope and that's the best you can say to me? I could have broken a leg or snapped my neck or- or worse!" Arthur snapped, kicking at the rope that had somehow become intertwined with his ankles.

"One can only hope for such an outcome." Francis teased, "And that is the most ridiculous excuse for tripping over like a clumsy fool that I have ever had the misfortune to hear. What on earth would a pile of rope be doing out in the middle of the woods?"

"I'm buggered if I know! Someone probably left if here in case anyone was stuck in the company of an _utter git_ like you and they had no other option but to hang themselves." Arthur barked.

Just as Arthur was getting to his feet, dusting the dirt from his jeans and wiping his hands, preparing for the fight that would have ultimately started, the rope in question began to _move._

Jumping out of the way, both sets of eyes followed the rope as it slowly uncoiled, slithering through heaps of yellow-orange and jade-green leaves and over the riverbank in a serpentine fashion to where Alfred was hastily tugging on one end at the other side of the water.

"Look what I've found! I bet this has something to do with the second task!" The American stopped pulling, so that an even stretch of rope lay on either side of the river, as both teams began to gather at their respective ends.

For a while they were in a quandary over what to do next - were they supposed to use it to cross the river? Was it a giant skipping rope? Perhaps there was something buried deep in the water that they had to discover and then haul out! All manner of ideas were suggested and whereas some were relatively normal others, usually contributed by either Gilbert or Feliciano, were just downright insane.

"How about a tug-of-war?"

Everyone turned in silence to stare at the Canadian, Matthew. Most hadn't even noticed his _presence_, let alone heard him speak yet, so the somewhat hesitant suggestion cast a contemplative silence over the chattering horde.

Alfred punched his fist enthusiastically into the air and slung an arm around his brother's shoulder, causing the teen to blush harder, startled by the unwanted attention.

"What an awesome idea! I mean - why didn't I think of that? It's _settled_! We'll have a tug-of-war battle over the river. The first team with three people in the water loses, okay? Okay! Let's go!" Arthur felt it was almost a shame Alfred hadn't been provided with a whistle or megaphone.

Each team then began to assemble themselves into some sort of order; the larger and stronger-looking members took to the front of the line whilst the slightly weaker ones clung on to the end of the rope. Arthur was surprised it had turned out so well, actually, as he noted both teams seemed to have equal footing. Their team, of course, had Berwald and Ludwig and the other team had a young, Russian man who, by rights, looked as though he could probably beat the whole fucking lot of them with one little finger and another fellow with ice-blue eyes who was sporting a spiky blond hairstyle. As he got a better grip of the rope, digging his heels as firmly as he could into the thick, slippery mud and readying himself to pull, the Englishman realised that, to his complete and utter misfortune, he was directly in front of Francis who, in turn, happened to be far too close for comfort, the creepy bastard.

"Three!"

Such thoughts disappeared as Arthur was brought back to the present.

"Two!"

He leaned forward slightly, tightening his grip.

"One!"

"_Go_!"

Arthur's only thought at this point was that tug-of-war competitions should probably never take place on ridiculously swampy river banks. Shouts and groans permeated through the air as feet slipped and slid over the soggy ground in attempts to find better footing. Arthur felt himself lurch forward, cold sludge creeping up the bottom of his jeans and smearing over his ankles like ointment. If he was pulled any further he'd probably be knee-deep in the stuff.

Shuddering, Arthur almost let go of the rope when a hand slithered around his waist and grasped at the rope in front of him.

"What in the name of sodding hell do you think you're playing at?" Arthur tried to whip his head round but had to concentrate on looking forwards or otherwise, lose his balance.

"Leverage, _mon cher_, leverage." Francis said plainly, the constant and violent sway of the rope making him slam into Arthur's back.

"Leverage can go fuck itself up the arse for all I care!" Arthur attempted to elbow Francis in the stomach, "Just remove your arm from around my waist!"

"Ah, you want us to lose then?" The Englishman didn't need to turn around - he could practically _hear_ the smirk in Francis' voice.

Suddenly, the Frenchman gave a sharp tug, sending Arthur toppling backwards into his chest, rope sliding painfully through his palms.

"I'm stronger than you, _mon ami_," Francis then gently pushed Arthur back onto his feet, "So, if you wish to stay as dry and clean as possible, just close that pretty mouth of yours and keep _pulling_."

"You are _not _stronger than me!" Arthur argued, gritting his teeth and, although he huffed and scowled all the more, eventually complying, tugging and hauling with a newfound vigor. '_I'm only doing this because I don't want to end up at the bottom of the fucking river. It's not because he's right. Not at all.'_

Arthur was brought back to his senses by Gilbert yelling and swearing as his toes neared the waters edge. Despite being scrawnier than his brother Ludwig, he had somehow managed to worm his way to the front of the team, proclaiming that since he was team leader and generally 'the most awesome' he should, of course, be first in line. Roderich had also been dragged along to take the lead since Gilbert had decided that if there was a chance he was going to end up in the river, the Austrian was most definitely going in with him.

"Pull harder, you fuckers! I'm nearly swimming!" Gilbert yelled, tossing his head back to address the team.

Of course, this statement was all the encouragement Alfred's team needed to go for the win and so, with a mighty collective groan and one last forceful tug they pulled Gilbert into the water who, in what seemed to be a natural reflex, turned and hauled a spluttering and protesting Roderich in with him.

They hadn't lost yet, however. Behind them, Ludwig and Berwald had dug themselves deeper into the mud in an effort to keep their balance.

"What on earth was that for, you idiot! Now we are definitely going to lose!" Roderich snapped, snatching at his glasses and wiping the dirty water from their lenses.

"Oh shut it and stop being such a pussy. It's only water." Gilbert smirked and then added, "You'll never live this down by the way - you screamed like a girl!"

All of a sudden, it was all over. The Russian tugged hard, a calm, un-tired smile on his face and then Ludwig's feet slid slowly backwards in the mud and he fell forwards, landing face first in the water and bringing the Swedish teen down on top of him.

Further up the line, the force of the pull had sent most of the team toppling forwards or ungracefully losing their footing and collapsing sideways or, in Arthur's case, slipping backwards into Francis, resulting in the two landing in a heap on the mud.

"My jodhpurs!" cried Francis, trying his best to keep his hair from trailing in the brown sludge beneath him.

Arthur groaned; the fall had knocked the air out of his lungs, winding him, and his ribs and back and muscles at once began to ache.

"Would you keep still for a moment and cease wriggling around like the bloody frog you are. I need to catch my breath." Arthur rasped.

"Are you sure, _mon cher_? I think you just want to stay here and lie on top of me." Francis wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Ha! Stop being so full of yourself, Francis." Arthur scowled, "Here I was thinking your ego couldn't get any bigger!"

"It's not the only thing that's b-" Francis began.

"If you wish to make it through the next five minutes, do _not_ finish that sentence!" Arthur huffed and rolled on to his side, cheeks aglow with embarrassment.

"Ah _mon ami,_ I only tease! _Merde_, look at my poor jodhpurs. They were expensive too!" Francis complained, rubbing at the layer of mud that covered his legs to no avail.

As Francis stood up, it became plain that his trousers were indeed ruined. Once aquamarine, the fitted garment was now caked in the mud he had just been lying in - an awful brown-black colour from top to bottom.

Arthur struggled to his feet too, leaning against the nearest tree as he still fought to catch his breath.

"Serves you right, you great pillock. If they were so costly then why bother to wear them when you're scrambling through the mud all day?" He put his hands on his hips and shook his head.

"It's all about fashion, dear Arthur. Not that I'd expect you to know anything about that, judging by what you've draped yourself in today." Francis scathed.

Before Arthur could make his cutting reply, Gilbert waded over to him through the mud and slapped him hard on the back, causing him to wheeze.

"Come on, you old ballbags. We've still got the obstacle race to go yet! Everyone's already got their water from the river and are ready to go!" He gesticulated wildly, the bucket in his hands sloshing half of its contents over Arthur's legs.

Arthur frowned, thinking to himself that Gilbert's particular intensity of enthusiasm should be banned or at the very least, disencouraged. Finally feeling somewhat alive again, he glanced over to the river. A collection of old, beaten buckets were strewn across the river bank and students were filling them and pointing over to what Arthur could only assume was the so-called 'obstacle course' Gilbert had mentioned.

Grudgingly, Francis and Arthur followed Gilbert across the river, filling up their buckets as they went, and inspected the set-up ahead of them. A series of wide, long and hollowed-out logs had been placed side by side, letting Arthur see straight through them to where a large green net had been lazily placed over a muddy patch of dirt and grass.

"So we've got to go through this whilst hanging on to our bucket of water?" Francis raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. The idea is to keep as much water in the bucket as possible but personally, I'd just fling the bucket as soon as you get to the tunnels; we'll have a better chance of getting to the end and winning that way." Gilbert shrugged.

As they talked, members of each team had begun to line up at the starting point - something that Alfred had fashioned out of two long twigs and that he had stuck in the mud.

"Everyone ready? Got your buckets?" he instructed, "All right, let's go!"

Clangs and splashes could be heard as most of the group ignored the rules, threw their buckets into the bushes and began to crawl on hands and knees through the logs.

"For god's sake Feli, get your ass in that tunnel and crawl!" Lovino was at his wits' end as his twin hesitated at the tunnel's entrance, holding up the line of teens trying to get through.

"But I don't like the dark! And it looks scary in there!" Feliciano whined.

"How can it be fucking dark?" Lovino questioned aggressively, "You can see straight through to the other side!"

Arthur decided that that problem was not going to be solved anytime soon, so he opted for the log to his right which was presently unoccupied. He crouched down and began to crawl. The tunnels could have been bigger, however, for he'd already banged his head upon the top of the log twice and he wasn't even half way bloody through yet.

As he was nearing the end, the bottom of his t-shirt snagged on the roughly carved walls around him and, although he tugged hard with little luck, he could not stop and unlatch himself as there was now someone else in the tunnel with him.

"As much as I'm enjoying the view, _mon ami_, do hurry up." Francis drawled, "I would like to at least finish the race a few places before last."

Arthur's shoulders sagged. _Why? Of all the times, why now? You have to wonder if he's doing this on fucking purpose._

"You could actually be helpful for a change, you know?" Arthur shouted, "How about helping me out?"

"But I do so_ love_ watching you struggle." Francis said, amused.

Arthur gave one last tug, his shirt tearing slightly and then he moved onwards, away from the lecherous Frenchman behind him and out of the god-forsaken tunnel.

Once free, he was faced with the task of scrambling under the net and crawling through the mud to other side where a structure resembling a child's climbing frame lay ahead. As he stepped forward, Gilbert rushed past him and threw himself under the net, face first into the mud. Deciding this was not the best course of action, the Englishman bent and gingerly lifted the netting, shuffling awkwardly until he was on his knees and completely covered by the fabric. For about a quarter of the way he continued with this plan, hooking his fingers into the rope above him to help him on his way; he couldn't help but let out a laugh as he heard a pained cry and looked to his right, seeing Gilbert with his nose stuck in one of the gaps in the net, looking like he was attempting a pig impression.

When he was around halfway through the net, Arthur was struck with a problem. The netting had been pulled tighter so it hung much lower, forcing him to slide onto his stomach and use his hands to push himself along.

"You know, _mon cher_," The god damn Frenchman was _still _behind him, "You say I'm the frog but at the moment you are doing a wonderful impersonation of one!"

"Can't you keep your mouth shut at all?" Arthur yelled, exhausted.

He moved his hands at a faster pace, immersing his fingers in earth and trying to reach the end as fast as he could without getting mud in his mouth.

A yelp from behind and a chilly, slippery hand around his ankle pulling him backwards forced Arthur's face down into the ground below. Kicking out, he tried to squirm free from Francis's grasp, ending up losing a shoe and moving only a little bit further.

"What are you trying to do?!" Arthur shouted at Francis.

"I slipped and needed to grab something so my face didn't go in the mud!" Francis explained, flustered.

"And you decided my foot was the best option?" Arthur snapped.

Scowling, he wriggled his legs as fast as he could, trying to kick mud up into the Frenchman's face for revenge.

Freeing himself, he turned around and attempted to brush as much dirt from his clothes as possible, merely succeeding in smearing it further.

"Here's your shoe, _mon cher_." Francis grinned cheekily at Arthur, holding out the soggy appendage. Arthur snatched the shoe from Francis's hand and then watched as his roommate sprinted over to the climbing frame and then proceeded to swing triumphantly along the bars to the finish line where the lucky half of the team who had already finished stood cheering the rest of them on.

Hopping on one foot, Arthur slid the mud-caked shoe back on to his equally muddied foot and muttered scathingly under his breath. In utter defeat, he dragged himself over to the climbing frame.

He looked up at the bars.

"There is no way in hell I'm doing this." he said hoarsely, completely devoid of energy.

After a couple of attempts at jumping to try and grasp the first bar, the Englishman bowed his head, gave up and trudged slowly over to where Francis and Gilbert stood, watching him and snickering to each other at the end of the course.

The German teen smirked at him, bending over with hands on his hips.

"Well Artie," he scoffed "That was _pathetic_. You didn't even complete the whole thing!"

"Sod you."

* * *

By the time they returned to the school, soggy, tired and covered head to toe in mud, grass and who knows what else, none of the students were particularly in the mood for the questions that awaited them. Once again, the teachers had gathered in the entrance hall, however, they did not look nearly as enthusiastic as they had previously that morning. Mr. Coen stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"Well, you all looked like you've had an eventful day. Tell me - what have you learned from your experiences?"

All he received in return was silence and a sea of scowls.

Then, ever so slowly, Francis raised a hand.

"Do not, I repeat, do not ever, _ever_, wear aquamarine jodhpurs when you have to crawl through heaps of wet dirt all day. It is definitely not worth the waste of such valuable garments!"

As nobody else could bring themselves to comment, Mr. Coen shook his head and dismissed the pupils. Yawning and rubbing sore limbs, the students made their way up the staircase, littering the floor with muddy footprints as they went, and went straight for the showers or the nearest thing they could find that they could sleep upon.

Cassian appeared in the doorway afterwards, brandishing his cleaning gloves at the drama teacher.

"You do know it's me who has to clean up the corridors every time you decide to have one of these supposed 'events'. Look at all this crap they've trailed into my carpets! Do you have any idea how long it's going to take to get out? I better be getting extra pay for this!" Cassian groaned, storming after the students and hurling his mop at the floors and doors as if it were a battering ram.

Adelbert raised an unimpressed eyebrow and turned towards his colleagues.

"I suppose this would be a bad time to inform everyone that the head-master wants to make this an annual event, then?"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I know what you're thinking! OH NO! NOT THIS AGAIN! I THOUGHT IT HAD FALLEN OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH AND DIED THERE! Well- If that is what you are thinking, you are wrong, my friend! This is ridiculously delayed because we got very busy, then slightly lazy, then incredibly cold! But this nonsense is still here. Perhaps the plot shall follow its story's lead and show up some time soon. Not in this chapter, though. Watch out for perspective shifts! Oh dear!

Thank you everybody for your kind reviews! We are very thankful and love you!

* * *

_**CHAPTER FOUR.**_

When Arthur woke up, he found that it was raining inside his dorm room - ice-cold water dripped onto the right side of his face as he opened his eyes. He immediately looked up at the ceiling, expecting a giant hole in the foundations of the absolute shambles of a building. Funny really - it was Monday morning. It was the first day of a new term at a new school he didn't even want to be in. He already knew, therefore, that he would have a figurative black cloud hovering above his head all day, occasionally letting out a burst of lightning and roar of thunder whenever Francis or Gilbert was around, but he in no way thought said rain-cloud would be literal.

Upon inspection, Arthur found that there were no gaps in his dormitory ceiling. Sitting up and turning to his right, Arthur noticed that it was actually raining _through_ the window - the wide open window. Tutting, Arthur glared at Francis who was in front of his mirror, smirking and pulling his blond hair back into a magenta ribbon.

"Are you mental?" Arthur asked, wrapping the thick bed covers around himself and then walking over to the window, slumped over from the weight of the blankets he had draped around himself, "It's freezing out there and the wind was blowing rain right into my face."

"It's _morning_, Arthur," Francis answered casually, "That calls for fresh air."

"Not when it's pissing down, it doesn't." Arthur grumbled, pulling at the window and trying, unsuccessfully, to close it, "As if it wasn't bad enough that - wait, how do you _close_ this thing? - as if it wasn't bad enough that you left the window open all day yesterday. After that ridiculous debacle in the woods, all I wanted to do - _seriously_, Francis, this window is completely _stuck_ - all I wanted was to crawl into my bed and sleep but _no _- the whole bloody room was left, by _your_ volition, to be slowly frozen as an extra special treat for when we got back. I mean, I genuinely thought I'd suddenly stumbled into fucking Oymyakon, not that my dickhead roommate had just forgotten to shut the window. So _now _you decide to open it first thing on a -"

Arthur heard himself trail off his point and bit his lip in frustration.

"Have my tuning-you-out skills improved significantly or have you just actually stopped talking?" Francis enquired, wandering over to where Arthur was having his war with the window.

"This stupid, broken window _won't _shut!" Arthur snapped, clawing at the wood with worrying determinacy.

"Allow me." Francis sighed and pushed Arthur to one side, sliding the window down with ease.

"How did you do that?" Arthur groaned, pulling the duvet tighter around himself.

"You have to push up slightly first and _then_ it comes down." Francis explained.

"You could have _told _me that, you lousy bastard." Arthur muttered under his breath, dragging himself back over to his side of the room and beginning to rummage through his chest of drawers, looking for any extra layers of clothes he could find. Even though September was a relatively chilly month, it was never usually _this _cold. Arthur scowled and, as per usual, just blamed the college building.

"I was having _far_ too much fun listening to you complain about me, of course." Francis commented dryly and went back to the mirror.

"Whatever," Arthur grumbled, tossing the blankets back down to the bed, "I'm going to go take a shower. What are _you_ doing?"

"_Moi_? I have already taken a shower and, as you may have observed, gotten dressed for the day. I might perhaps go get some breakfast." Francis smiled nonchalantly.

"Yeah," Arthur narrowed his eyebrows at Francis, "About that - I think you may have forgotten something."

Francis turned round and gave Arthur a puzzled expression to which Arthur responded by pointing to his chin.

"Your beard, Francis. You've got some stubble you might want to shave. It's getting more noticeable than it was the first d-" Arthur began.

"Arthur." Francis pursed his lips, "I have put up with a fair few insults from you thus far in our relationship, but do _not_, under any circumstance,insult my facial hair!"

"You mean that's _supposed_ to be there?" Arthur felt himself begin to smirk.

"Of course it is!" Francis snapped, "What of it?"

"Nothing. Nothing." Arthur raised his arms and offered Francis a fake smile, "It's just strange for an...for an _actor _to have facial hair. They're normally so-"

"You're wearing mittens!" Francis pointed at Arthur, his expression incredulous, "That's hardly punk rock, is it?"

"Th- these are merely practical!" Arthur felt himself heat up something tremendously, "They're very warm!"

"They're fluffy!" Francis scoffed.

"Well - yes! That's what makes them _warm_, genius!" Arthur countered.

"Then what are the pom-poms for?" Francis raised his chin and grinned smugly.

"I-" Arthur covered a pom-pom with one of his mittened hands, "I- Go _die_ you bearded imbecile!"

"As long as you go first, _idiot_." Francis sighed and brushed his hand across his brow, pinching his thumb and index finger at his temples as if scolding himself for getting into yet another squabble with his roommate.

Arthur, on the other hand, was shoving his toiletries into a shower bag with violent enthusiasm, frowning and cursing as if scolding himself for not trying to switch rooms.

"Arthur?" Francis said as Arthur began walking quickly-as-possible out of the room.

"What?" Arthur snapped, not even bothering to turn around.

"Everyone is meeting up in the common room after lessons to talk and maybe eat and the like." Francis said slowly, giving each word careful consideration.

"And?" Arthur asked, his tone bored and impatient.

"You should come. It could be -" Francis paused, as if he were searching for the right word.

"I'll think about it!" Arthur barked, turning his head to glare at Francis one last time before he slammed the door shut.

"Well," Francis let out a low whistle, "At least I asked."

* * *

The common room was decorated in shades of cream and gray and seemed to be getting the bulk effect of the school's heating system. The expansive room was littered with rows of comfy chairs, sofas and chipped wooden tables. At the far side was a small kitchen with a microwave, fridge, kettle and vending machine.

Francis leant back in the chair and crossed his legs as Antonio fed him anecdotes about his first dance class. Listening carefully and laughing occasionally whenever Antonio happened to mention anything amusing, Francis barely noticed when the other students began to pour into the common room, talking among themselves about their first day of class.

"No way am I doing that!" Lovino sat down aggressively next to Antonio and instantly crossed his arms over his chest.

"Lovino-" Feliciano began, offering Francis and Antonio a slight wave before sitting down opposite his twin.

"It's disgusting - It's downright _depraved_, that's what it is." Lovino continued, shaking his head.

"What's up, Lovi?" Antonio asked, leaning in towards the fuming Italian.

"They want us to do a _life-drawing _class next week." Lovino said through clenched teeth.

"Then do it! Don't be such a prude, _cher _Lovino." Francis chuckled.

"He's right!" Feliciano cried, raising a finger and beaming at his brother, "It's all artistic experience, ve?"

"So what?" Lovino snapped, "I shouldn't have to draw some creepy stranger naked-"

"Stranger?" Antonio commented absentmindedly, bringing his hand to his chin as if deep in thought, "Actually, I think _I _volunteered to model for that class."

"What the hell?" Lovino all but squawked in Antonio's ear, "That's even worse!"

"How is it worse?" Antonio smiled, "You said you didn't want to draw a stranger and _I _am certainly not a stranger-"

"Keep your- keep your _manhood_ in the fucking dance hall, you idiot!" Lovino yelled and turned away from Antonio deliberately.

Ludwig observed this scene from his place in the doorway; the Spaniard cooing and cuddling up to Lovino who was struggling desperately and smacking him over the head, all the while his twin was stepping from one foot to the other, trying to figure out what to do, and then stopping once he spotted Ludwig by the door.

"Ludwig!" he cried, running over to him and flinging slender arms around his neck.

The German teen stiffened; despite being well acquainted with the Italian after many weeks of studying abroad together, these commonplace displays of affection still managed to surprise him.

He was dragged from his thoughts as a pair of hands pushed him onto the sofa, Feliciano slumping at his side.

"So how was your first lesson Ludwig? You're studying poetry right? Ve- I wish I was clever like that!"

Ludwig grunted, his shoulders shrugging in an apathetic manner.

"Not too bad I suppose. Could have been wor-" The common room door slammed against the wall, cutting him off.

"What's up, Berlin?!" Gilbert's indication of his own arrival echoed through the room. Francis turned his head to see Gilbert making his way towards the group and couldn't help but smirk when he noticed that Arthur was in tow.

"Berlin?" Arthur was asking him, frowning.

"Yeah - like, as if we've just entered a concert hall and we're all 'Good night, Berlin!'" Gilbert explained, hopping over from the back of the couch to sit next to his brother.

"But we aren't _in_ Berlin." Arthur said with a sigh, sitting down next to Francis and closing his eyes as if he were incredibly tired.

"Yeah, but, I don't really know the exact name of this place." Gilbert slung an arm around Ludwig's shoulders and grinned, "All of this British countryside looks all the god damn same to me."

"Honestly," Arthur buried his face in his hands, "How are you not on the side of a milk carton?"

"Anyway!" Gilbert said, changing the subject, "Have we missed story time?"

"Story time?" Francis asked, suddenly feeling rather entertained.

"You know - where one of us tells the rest of us all about their first day of class." Gilbert put his feet up on the table and stretched.

"There's this guy in my class - Ivan - who is a dancer straight out of the Moscow Ballet." Antonio said, "Does that count as a story?"

"Sort of," Gilbert nodded, "But it's all in the way you _tell _it, Antonio. You've got to tell the story like it's an epic part of the glorious saga that is your very life. Look - I'll go first and show you how it's done, okay?"

* * *

**Gilbert and Arthur's First Lesson**

_I was in class before anyone else. It's good to do that, you know? It makes a good impression - makes you seem eager to learn. Plus, you get to scope out the best spot in the classroom. I have an awesome set of drums - glow-in-the-dark and everything! So they deserve the best space, right? So then the teacher comes in and he is one badass dude. He's got this really classy air about him, doesn't he, Arthur? He's got all this silver hair pulled back into a blue ribbon and he's carrying a flute case. He did a demonstration for us and everything once the lesson got started. It was really something. You've all got to hear him play sometime. Anyway - he said we can just call him 'Frederick' because he doesn't see himself as a 'Mister', not really. That's pretty cool, don't you think? Like I said, he's one badass dude - his awesome level is only a few notches below mine, or something._

_The class starts to come in about now. Roderich is first. That's probably because he's just a really punctual little pansy, though, not because he wanted to score some awesome practice space like me. Then comes that other band - and they're our rivals, aren't they, Arthur? And you'd met two of them already, right? That Berwald and Tino. They said 'Hello' to you and everything. They were with these three other guys. The tall one - Aksel? He seemed pretty cool. Then there were those two brothers - Oskar and Ruben. They frightened me a bit, to be honest. When Aksel came over to introduce himself to us they looked at him like he wasn't supposed to talk to other human beings. That's pretty brutal. Those five are in some sort of rock band, anyway. They're our main competition, I reckon._

_So they all go over to the other corner of the room and start setting up. I couldn't help but notice their drum kit wasn't glow-in-the-dark - but then again, it wasn't dark, so perhaps it still could be. I'll have to investigate that somehow. In any case - it wasn't acid yellow like mine. The amateurs. _

_Then came in those three Asian kids. There was Yong Soo, talking way too much, Lei, talking hardly at all and then Lin in the middle of them both, talking exactly the right amount. They do some kind of pop music, I think. It involved a synthesiser so forgive me for not showing too much enthusiasm. _

_So that leaves Arthur, right? Arthur comes in about five seconds before the class begins and he's wearing these mittens which is, as you all know, well lame, and I'm all, "Are you serious, Artie? You're totally cramping my style here!" and-_

"Hey!" Arthur interjected suddenly, "That wasn't what happened! How about you tell the story properly?"

"Excuse me, your highness," Gilbert rolled his eyes and turned back to the congregation of people who had assembled to listen to his anecdote. "As I was saying-"

_So Arthur comes in and he's all, "Wah wah wah! My absolute twat of a roommate opened our window this morning and wah wah wah!", To which I replied, "Twat? I thought you two were, like, biffles." and Artie is like, "Biffles?" because he isn't down with the cool kids' lingo like I am so I explain - "B, F, F, L - Best friends for life, man!" _

_So Arthur rolls his eyes. He does this a lot. Often accompanied by a sigh or a shake of the head, too. It's like he's perfected and freaking copyrighted every single gesture associated with being grumpy. He rolls his eyes and says "Friends? With that absolute waste of space? Never! I hate him! Oh! Woe is me! I hate my roommate! Wah wah wah!"_

"_What _a coincidence!" Francis snapped suddenly, his smile twitching at the edges, "I also hate _my_ roommate."

"Why!" Arthur exclaimed, smiling back at his roommate sardonically, "That _is _a coincidence."

"No fighting while I'm telling my story!" Gilbert scolded before they could start grabbing for collars and strangling each other.

"Stop doing whiny impressions of me, then." Arthur muttered childishly and then allowed Gilbert to continue.

_So I was saying to Arthur, "I thought you guys were best friends or something." Because I seriously did. You were rooming together and you both seemed to have a lot of fun at the relationship-development - or whatever the hell it was meant to be - event. It was only natural to assume you guys were friends. And I really like you, Francis. You're a pretty cool dude - your awesome level is nowhere near mine or that Frederick's but it's at the very least established - it's solid. But that apparently isn't so because Arthur gets really sarcastic and is like, "Oh yes, we're _great _friends. We're getting ready to build a treehouse and learn a secret handshake." To which I actually replied, "Whoa! Can I join in?" because, let's all face it, a treehouse and secret handshake sounds like a damn good idea, right? _

_So the lesson begins and instead of giving us a boring old lecture or run-of-the-mill practical lesson, Old Frederick comes over to me - to _me_ - and he says, "You show them how it's done, my boy." _

_That's when it happens, my friends. The dreary classroom is suddenly enshrouded in smoke and then glitter cannons shoot out multicoloured stars that dribble through the air like rock-and-roll rain. Then, the floor begins to tremble and quake and the other kids start to run away but I'm totally impeding their exit! Then, I run to the center of the room and it begins to rise! Arthur grabs his guitar and joins me and my golden microphone begins to descend from where it was hidden in the ceiling. I grab it, completely in the spotlight and then - explosions! Fireworks begin to burst all around us and the amps pump furiously as the music class begins to clap along to Artie's opening chords. Then I scream, "Good morning, Green Acre!" and the crowd goes absolutely fucking wild. The lights start to cartwheel around the room - all different colours. Suddenly, everybody starts to spill out of their classrooms to get a glimpse of the show of the millennium. Seriously - Elizaveta heard and came running out of her photography class, pushed her way to the front and started to dance like it was nobody's business. The show was just that awesome. It was so awesome that it was probably better than every single event combined in her entire life. So she was all, "Gilbert! You're so extremely talented and hunky! Please- Please won't you be my guy?" but I'm all, "Listen, you're an alright chick and all, but we've got a rocketship on the way to take us to a super fantastic gig on the moon and-"_

"Arthur Kirkland!" Elizaveta yelled from where she was warming up soup in the kitchen's microwave, "If _you_ don't take over and tell this ridiculous story, I'm going to come over there and hit you _both _in the face with my soup spoon."

Upon hearing this, Gilbert immediately got down from his makeshift podium and proceeded to hide behind Ludwig. Arthur sighed, coughed, and scratched his neck before standing up and taking his position as the new storyteller.

_It was terribly cold, this morning. You can't really tell the weather's so cold when you're in here because they've cranked the heating system up to it's fucking maximum - honestly, the condensation is practically spilling down the windows - but that is besides the point. So I shall admit that yes, I was wearing mittens this morning but I insist it was merely for practical reasons. They're extremely warm and comfortable and since we're fast approaching winter, I urge you all to invest in a pair. Now, moving on._

_I walk into our music classroom, expecting perhaps a recently emptied broom cupboard with rusty spikes possibly protruding out of the walls but I was surprised to see it's actually quite clean and spacious. Gilbert was waving to me manically over from his spot in the corner and so, I approached him. _

_Before I could even begin to complain about Francis' inconsiderate actions this morning, Gilbert rudely grabbed my wrists and he said, "Mittens? That's our band motif? I'm totally on board, Arthur! Let's make it part of our look!" and then went on to talk about getting matching earmuffs. Like I said - he didn't tell the story properly. Just thought I would make that perfectly plain and simple for everyone, right? Hopefully you don't need me to clear things up about the glitter cannons, magical stage and moon concert. If you do, I don't know what to tell you._

_To change the subject, I ask Gilbert who he rooms with and he tells me, "I share with Antonio and my brother, Ludwig." and I ask how they all know each other and he replies, "Well, Ludwig used to study abroad a lot and when he was in Italy he met that cute Italian - the lucky bastard - and then he obviously met the cute Italian's basket-case twin and then, subsequently, met Antonio. So yeah - I room with my bro and Antonio and the twins room together. Antonio's awesome, man - not as awesome as me, of course, but, you know how that is don't you Arthur?"_

_It was around this time our teacher came in and Gilbert started reveling in the glory that was his new man-crush-_

"Hey! I resent that! Old Fritz is a stand-up guy - a real awesome teacher, you know? You can respect a guy without having a 'man-crush' on him!" Gilbert snapped, kicking his feet against the table.

Arthur merely rolled his eyes and continued.

_So Frederick tells us about our assignment for the year. In our bands, or as solo artists, we must compose a fully original set of three to five pieces of music and then perform the pieces at the end-of-year arts show. As you can probably guess just by looking my expression as I am telling you this, it's going to be an incredibly fun-_

"Don't be so damn sarcastic, you brat!" Gilbert yelled.

"Oh, so _sorry_, Gilbert," Arthur grinned, "I _wholeheartedly_ apologise."

"I forgive you, man," Gilbert slapped Arthur on the back, "Because that's what bandmates _do_. Carry on!"

_Today, however, Frederick tells us, is a time to get our bands in order. Before we can hope to make good music together we apparently have to get to know and to understand each other. So he sets us our week's assignment of naming our band and writing up a report upon our influences. I can tell you this - if I hope to understand Gilbert as my bandmate before we can begin to write music together, we are most definitely not going to make the end-of-year arts show._

_This is because the naming process goes as follows - Gilbert says something ridiculous and I reject it. That's easy to understand, is it not?_

"What the heck, Artie?!" Gilbert twitched in his seat and jumped up to where Arthur was standing, "The names I suggested were totally awesome!"

"You wanted to call us '_Beware the Albino'_-" Arthur started, placing a hand on his hip.

"That's a really good name! It's catchy - It's fun - It's _true_. Everybody likes it - Ask them!" Gilbert threw an arm towards the crowd of students gathered in the common room.

"Okay - Everyone who thinks '_Beware the Albino' _is a good band name please raise your hand." Arthur snapped, whirling round to face his audience.

Two hands went up. One belonged to Alfred, who lying down on one of the sofas, slurping a soft drink out from a straw, and the other belonged to Francis.

"Really, Francis?" Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"_Non_," Francis smirked wickedly, "I just felt like disagreeing with _you_."

"Ha!" Gilbert yelled, "I knew I could count on you, Franola."

"That still counts as a 'no', Gilbert." Arthur shook his head and then turned his attention to Alfred.

"You- Alfred, right?" he addressed the American, "Are you purposely disagreeing with me, too?"

"No way!" Alfred cried, "I genuinely think it's a rocking band name."

"What are some of your _other_ ideas?" Roderich asked, sighing in a bored fashion and interrupting Gilbert's laughs of victory.

"'_The Famous International Playboys_.'" Gilbert grinned and elbowed Arthur in the ribs playfully.

"Which I vetoed for obvious reasons." Arthur pushed Gilbert back down into his seat.

"And," Gilbert shouted, throwing his arms in the air, "My personal favourite - '_The Withering Socks' _- which you have to admit is brilliant, right?"

"So, as you can see, we still haven't come up with a name." Arthur muttered.

"At least we got our influences down, though." Gilbert commented, sounding oddly.

"Ah, _yes_," Arthur agreed sarcastically, turning round to face the common room again, "Let me tell you how _that _went."

_We are sitting cross-legged on the floor with an empty sheet of paper in front of us. We are supposed to be writing a list of our influences - the bands and solo acts we one day hope to be like. So there we are - thinking it over -I'm tapping the pen against the floor and Gilbert is softly batting his drumsticks against the wall. Then, he stops, turns towards me and says, "The Beatles, right?"_

_I reply, "Sure, we can put The Beatles, Gilbert, but shouldn't we put down some actual punk bands first?"_

_Imagine my horror when Gilbert replies, in all seriousness, "What are you talking about? The Beatles _are _a punk band."_

_"No they certainly are not!" I assure him, but he just shakes his head and retorts, "Sure they are! One of the greats! They sung that song about Anarchy in the UK."_

_"That was The Sex Pistols, you prime nonce." I tell him, but again, he just shakes his head manically and informs me that, "The Sex Pistols were that band with the bowl cuts! They were like, 'All you need is love' and all of that shit. Man, you're so confused."_

_"No - That was The Beatles!" I correct him but he just laughs and tells me I'm stupid. Then, of course, he tries to talk to me about the time Morrissey did that one album about that 'Ziggy Stardust dude' and asks if we can put that on our influence list._

_That's not the end of it, either. You don't even want to know about the conversation we had about The Jam and The Clash. You'd probably all run to your rooms crying in horror and shame._

_So, we finished the lesson without even a temporary name for our band and without one unquestionable entry on our influence list. I don't know what we're going to tell Frederick at the end of the week- _

"He'll understand." Gilbert said knowingly.

"He'll understand that my bandmate is a complete arse-farmer? How compassionate of him." Arthur sat back down next to Francis and folded his arms.

"At least your teacher is relatively sane." A dreamy voice from the left suddenly commented lazily, "You should see what I have to put up with."

"Why?" Francis asked, "What happened to you?"

"He's just...not what I was expecting." The young man said, mainly to himself.

"You're Heracles, right?" Feliciano asked, pointing a finger at the sleepy Grecian.

Heracles nodded and frowned, "I had kind of a bad experience, I think."

"So tell us about it, man!" Gilbert snapped his fingers and pointed to the cardboard box podium.

* * *

**Heracles' First Lesson**

_I take sculpture at this school. I thought I was actually late because I overslept but when I got there, I found that the teacher hadn't even shown up yet. So I take a seat next to- next to Gupta. I like him because he's pretty quiet so it'll be easier to take naps in class, I guess. If I had a classmate who talked my ear off, I'd never get any extra sleep. _

_Right when I think that our teacher isn't going to show, the door flies open with what seems to be someone's foot and that's when Mr. Adnan comes in. He's a real tall guy - tanned like me and he's carrying a flask of what he says is 'sweet tea' but I slightly doubted that. Anyway - he's pretty lively to say the least but I don't think he really took a liking to me._

_"Right," he says loudly, "I'm Mr. Adnan and today we're going to make some fuckin' vases. When I say we, I mean you, obviously. I ain't doin' it. I'm goin' to fuckin' sleep because this pottery shit is for pussies, anyway."_

"But wait-" Elizaveta interjected softly, "Isn't he supposed to be the _sculpture teacher_?"

"Yes," Heracles replied, "And it just gets worse."

_Then he points at me - actually points at me - and says, "What's your name?"_

_"Heracles Karpusi, sir." I say politely._

_"That last comment was aimed at you, Karsupi." He says and then laughs riotously to himself._

_I tell him again that it's 'Karpusi' not 'Karsupi' but he refuses to listen. As a general principle of his, he _doesn't _listen and when he does happen to pay attention to whatever you're saying, he's no help whatsoever._

_For example, Gupta asks him, "Where is my pottery wheel, sir?" and Mr. Adnan replies, "What the fuck is a pottery wheel and why the hell should I know where it is? I ain't your fuckin' professor, am I?"_

_Gupta narrows his eyebrows then and says, "Well, yes. Yes you are." and Mr. Adnan smirks and shouts, "That was your first test! A fuckin' plus!" then he pauses and adds, "I still don't know where your pottery wheel is, though. It could be at the arse end of nowhere for all I know and care."_

"That's awful." Arthur wrinkled his nose, "Don't they have a standard for teaching at this school or do they just employ people at random from the street?"

"Hey! Old Frederick certainly didn't come in off of any street!" Gilbert cried.

"I don't know where they got him from." Heracles sighed and scratched the back of his head.

_After we got started and it became clear to me that the teacher didn't want to bother himself with what we were doing, I found myself drifting off into sleep. I guess it was my light snoring that interrupted Mr. Adnan from his wandering thoughts. He cast a lazy glance over the class, searching for anything that would hint who was making such a noise. Then, according to Gupta, he smirked and pushed himself out of his seat, telling the rest of the class that if anyone was going to sleep in his class it would be him and only him. He then stalked over to me quietly and took on what he probably liked to think was his most intimidating pose, coming to a halt directly in front of my desk._

"_Karsupi!" I remember him shouting, of course. How could I forget the shouting?_

_The loud roar jerked me backwards from the desk, my eyes were bleary and glazed from sleep and I rocked unsteadily on my chair from the shock._

"… _Sir?" I say unsurely._

"_I would like to ask, Karsupi, why you thought it would be convenient to sleep in my class?" He crosses his arms and towers over me, glaring._

"…_It's Karpusi, sir, not Karsupi." I correct him once more, hoping this time he will actually get the message because he is actually beginning to get on my nerves._

"_Do I look like a give a pig-shit?" Is what he snaps in return, "Get back to making that lump of clay resemble something other than a fucking turd and don't disturb me again!"_

_Satisfied with the slight roll of eyes and nod that I give him for an answer, he swaggers back to his own seat, and slumps into the chair. He settled himself on the desk as if _he_ is about to go to sleep - the hypocrite. He does so and then, with the soft clay running through my fingers, I feel myself getting so relaxed that _I_ begin to doze off again._

_Then- through my lovely dream about clay cats tumbling through a giant vase and into a play-dough meadow, I hear -_

"_KARSUPI!"_

"Oh man," Gilbert shook his head and patted Heracles on the back, "That's just wrong."

Hercles turned to Arthur and ran a hand through his ruffled brown hair, "So just be thankful your teacher isn't absolutely_ insane_."

"Actually!" Alfred sat up straight suddenly, "That's not entirely true for all of us."

Francis snorted lightly in his seat and Arthur raised an eyebrow as he asked, "What? Is your teacher a weirdo as well?"

"Yes!" Alfred shouted.

"_Non_ - not at all!" Francis countered, "_Cher _Alfred over there just doesn't understand his brilliance."

"I want to be an actor in _action-adventure movies_, Francis!" Alfred whined, "What he taught us today was useless!"

"You have to learn to act in a more subtle manner." Francis chided lightly, rolling his eyes.

"Screw that!" Alfred scoffed, "I want to do _real_ acting!"

"Having a steady range of expressions _constitutes_ asreal acting!" Francis retorted, shaking his head at his classmate's ignorance.

Gilbert caught Arthur's eye and mouthed, 'Actors!' then turned to Francis and said, "Come on then, tell us about it."

* * *

**Francis's First Lesson**

_Upon entering the classroom I was relieved to see that our teacher had not yet arrived. Considering it was the first lesson, I had hoped to make a good impression by arriving slightly early._

Pointedly ignoring the snort and muttered insult from a certain British male to his left, he carried on.

_I was not the only pupil to have arrived, however, as our dear friends Alfred and Matthew were currently situated in a corner at the rear end of the room, the first with his legs splayed out in front whilst he crossed his arms behind his head; it appeared rather sloppy, in my opinion, and it created a distinct air of disinterest about him-_

The American in question sat up at this point, having been arranged in a position not dissimilar from the one currently being described.

"Can you blame me? I mean, come on you guys- it was nine in the fucking morning! Who the hell is fully awake then?"

Francis cleared his throat.

_Anyway, having chosen a seat nearer the front I patiently awaited the arrival of other students, occupying myself by inspecting the posters that adorned the surrounding walls. Faces of famous actors and actresses peered back at me, some of them decorated with looping signatures. There were even a couple of photographs featuring, who I presumed was, our teacher._

_As I was contemplating taking a closer look at the framed photographs, the door swung open and in came the teacher; he was tall, with a deep frown in place on his strong features and long blond hair flowing over his shoulders, a single delicate braid intertwined with-_

"You've got Coen?" crowed Gilbert, delighting in his friend's bad luck, or at least, what _he_ considered to be misfortune.

Next to him, Arthur grinned slyly at the Frenchman, "Well I never, it sounds rather like our darling Francis is in love!"

"_Mon dieu_," Francis growled. "Are you lot ever going to let me finish this? As I was saying,"

_The teacher had just entered the classroom and had situated himself, rather gracefully I might add, behind his desk, and was now looking out over the class with his piercing gaze._

"He was fucking glaring! I feared for my life!" Alfred interjected.

"_Today we will be developing our expressions. As actors it is vital that we learn the correct way to school our features, creating the most appropriate facial expression based on the fundamental emotions required for any particular role. Take 'anger', for example."_

_He then went on to demonstrate various emotions, the slight alterations of his expression completely changing the mood. I found it inspiring. To think that I have the privilege of being taught by someone with such talent brings me both comfort and joy, that one day I may be as successful as he is._

"Slight alterations? Are you blind or something? I'm telling you, his face _never_ changed. Not even once! 'Anger' was exactly the same as sheer 'bliss'," Alfred guffawed, leaning back in his seat and adopting a rather smug expression. "You clearly haven't seen a proper actor in action."

Raising an eyebrow, Francis turned his head, "Oh? And I suppose that is why, when you jumped up and proclaimed to have worked with the most esteemed actors in history and that he clearly did not know what he was on about, Mr. Coen replied sarcastically, 'The most esteemed actors in history? How extremely talented you must be! How lucky I am to have you in my class, Mr. Jones! Why, a celebratory jig is in the works!'"

At this point, the teens surrounding them had either switched off entirely or were chuckling at Alfred's expense, while said American blushed and slumped further into his seat.

* * *

Some time after everyone had finished telling their hilarious first-day-of-class stories and the secret stashes of alcohol were being uncovered and brought out, Francis took a slightly-tipsy Arthur back to the dormitory and deposited him directly onto the floor.

Arthur groaned and crawled into bed without bothering to change into his pajamas as Francis went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. As he heard the running of water, Arthur couldn't help but notice the slightly tense atmosphere between himself and his roommate and exhaled gloomily.

"Oi." Arthur called suddenly, burying his face into the blanket.

"Yes?" Francis answered, peering round the edge of the door frame.

"What Gilbert said before?" Arthur began, peeking over the top of the blanket, "He was exaggerating- I mean, it's not that I necessarily- I don't- I don't _hate _you. You're hard to deal with, sure, but I wouldn't really call it _hate_, you know?"

"You felt like you had to explain that to me?" Francis raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose so," Arthur mumbled unsurely, "So there it is - I don't _hate _you."

"Well," Francis smiled awkwardly, "Good - I- I do not hate you either."

"Oh. Right then. J- jolly good." Arthur attempted to smile in return.

"Yes. Good. Quite." Francis nodded and then disappeared back into the bathroom.

Arthur sighed, suddenly feeling incredibly worn-out and irritated, whilst Francis walked back into the dormitory and switched off the light before climbing into bed.

"It's rather chilly, isn't it?" Francis chuckled and Arthur heard him rubbing his hands together.

"At least you didn't leave the bloody window open all day, again." Arthur grumbled, flopping his head down into the pillow.

"Care to come in my bed and keep me warm?" Francis pleaded sweetly.

"I'd rather drop dead." Arthur growled into his pillow.

"Fair enough - I'll just have to borrow those adorable mittens you were sporting today. Where are they?" Francis laughed.

"I take back everything I've just said," Arthur growled harshly, "I really do hate you."

"Oh really?" Francis smirked into the dark.

"Yes," Arthur spat, "So much."

"Goodnight Arthur."

"...'Night."


End file.
